


Not Even A Rocket To The Face

by Amariahellcat



Series: Shepard and Ryder [4]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Getting Together, Mass Effect 2, No Shepard without Vakarian, Reunion Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amariahellcat/pseuds/Amariahellcat
Summary: What If Garrus and Shepard had gotten together during the events of the first game?Oneshot, longer then intended, NSFW. Deals with the beginning of ME2 and finding Garrus again on Omega.





	Not Even A Rocket To The Face

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot I wrote forever ago and posted on Tumblr but forgot to post here... oops. Enjoy?

Arisa Shepard comes back from the dead and finds herself in the company of strangers.

There’s no time to think, at first; instinct takes over in the face of enemies, her tendency towards  _fight_  overriding everything else.

Until they’re on board the shuttle and her new ‘companions’ are asking questions, discerning whether her memories are there and she’s herself or not before they meet the Illusive Man.

“You made a hard choice on Virmire,” Jacob keeps his voice level, though she can tell there’s curiosity there, “How did you choose?”

“It wasn’t easy. Ash was a good friend - but she was also deeper in the complex, already gravely wounded. Kaidan was closer, less injured - it made logical sense, much as I hated to make that choice.”

“The reports have been… conflicting, on that point.” Miranda’s gaze is steady, seeking, “Were you and Alenko  _more_  than friends, Commander?”

“No. Kaidan was a good man, a good friend, but that was it.”

“What about the Asari, Dr. T’Soni?”

“Not my type - Liara’s one of my best friends, but never been into Asari.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose the companion the reports speak of had to be  _another_  member of your Crew. Say… the Turian?”

“I wasn’t aware that my personal life was so interesting to Cerberus.” Arisa responds calmly, face a neutral mask.

“We like to know who we’re working with, what their motivations are… their  _needs_.” Miranda’s gaze remains steady, “What was his name again? We tried to find him, recently, to extend an invitation to your crew - no such luck.”

“Garrus.” she allows the briefest flicker of emotion, catching a twitch of a smile from Miranda, “Garrus Vakarian. When was he seen last?”

“Unknown. Not long after you died, from what I’ve managed to find.” the brunette looks like a cat about to pounce, eyes glinting, “Were you two…  _close_ , Commander?”

Arisa only sits back, crosses her arms, and allows a smile of her own. “I’m afraid we’re not  _close enough_  for me to divulge that information, Miranda. Maybe another time.”

Truthfully, she and Garrus  _had_  been together, before the attack that had destroyed the SR1.

The only reason Garrus hadn’t been there at the time was that he was cleaning up a few loose ends on the Citadel.

 

* * *

  _‘Well, if I’m officially joining the Crew of the Normandy, gotta do some clean up, y’know? Never use my apartment anyways. And I guess I **should**  submit my Spectre application, since I’ve got such a high recommendation from my Commanding Officer.’_

She hadn’t expected it to be an issue - drop him off for a few days, hunt down some Geth in the meantime, go back to the Citadel to pick him up and continue things from where they’d left off - best friends but also definitely  _more_  than that.

Not that having him on board would have made a difference; it might have ended up with them  _both_  dead, and that thought made her happy he’d been safe on the Citadel.

If asked, she’d have a hard time saying  _how_  they got together. They’d been close almost since he’d joined them in the hunt for Saren; similar minded and well-matched on the battlefield, covering each other's flanks, making up for the other’s weakness’.

It probably started with the showers - stumbling into each other late one night, Garrus already under the spray and Arisa barging in with a towel and shampoo clutched in one hand.

They’d both frozen for a moment, startled, before she’d gotten control of herself and shrugged it off, treating his presence as she would any other crew mate in the showers - the SR1 was a military ship, no question, and communal showers were something she was used to.

If anything, her brush off had relaxed him, and soon it became somewhat of a routine; Garrus prefered to only shower after everyone else was done, being the only Turian onboard a mostly Human vessel. Arisa herself just prefered the quieter hours and not being jammed into the showers with half the Crew.

 _And_ , she’d admitted to him after 3 or 4 days, feeling comfortable enough to share,  _Without Kaidan or Liara around._

Garrus’ surprise had been obvious without even looking at him, sub-vocals humming,  _How come?_

_They’re my friends. Close friends. But that’s **it**._

_Ah. The message not quite getting through?_

_If the way they both stare at my ass is any indication, **no**._

Garrus had laughed at that - loud and startled, drawing her gaze momentarily in reaction to the sudden sound.

It was a sound she rather liked, and slowly, things had changed.

Arisa had always been the physical type with her friends - bumping shoulders or hips,soothing with a quick touch, giving a hug if someone needed it. Automatic little reactions, usually done unconsciously.

Except suddenly she was touching Garrus more, and she was doing it on purpose. Brushing close after missions, bumping him over with the pretense that he was taking up all the cover, smacking him on the arm in happiness whenever they finished a mission.

And Garrus seemed to start doing it back - talons sweeping her unruly hair back from her face while she drives the Mako, a hand warm on her back when she’d stumbled from the shock of a biotic blast.

Arisa found herself taking peeks during their middle-of-the-night showers, gaze drawn to the 7 feet of deliciously naked Turian as though he were a magnet. She always yanked her eyes away quickly, feeling ashamed, guilty for taking advantage of her friends trust.

Until she caught  _him_  peeking at  _her_ , distinct interest in his gaze.

So she let herself look. Let herself run her eyes over the plates covering him, the fawn coloured hide beneath, let herself wonder what he would  _feel_  like, pressed against her own body.

The  _want_  that accompanied the thought startled her. She’d had a fling or two in her youth, nothing serious, and nothing that had ever made her feel like  _this_.

So Arisa paid careful attention, and  _waited_.

Waited till the day she felt his gaze linger, not moving away almost immediately as it always did. Felt his eyes burning into her back, scorching her, swore she heard him  _growl_  when she purposely shifted her hips, pressing her thighs together.

She’d spun around with the intent to corner him and pin him to the wall only to find herself pinned instead; lifted almost immediately and pressed to the wall by a plate-covered chest, his breath hot on her neck and talons  _just_  digging into her hips.

There was no discussion, that first time; no real conversation or agreement or even words beyond  _You sure_? and  _Fuck, yes, Garrus._  and her cries of first pain and then pleasure when he’d pushed inside.

He was big and  _ridged_  and felt so much better than any human she’d ever been with, and that combined with his hard thrusting and  _growls_  against her neck sent her over the edge much faster than she’d ever expected.

Garrus had practically snarled, sub-vocals going crazy, and when he’d tried to pull out she’d wrapped her legs firmly around him and kept him rooted, grinning wickedly at his ending shudder.

She was a Spacer kid; she’d been tested  _long_  ago for Dextro sensitivities. Lucky for her, she wasn’t allergic in the least.

Talking had come  _after_  they’d separated and rinsed off and dressed, sitting in her cabin sipping at a couple of beers she’d snagged and tucked closer than they’d have ever been before.

It had been an easy line to cross, in the end; friends into something more. They got along well, enjoyed each other's company, were  _clearly_  attracted to each other despite species differences - couldn’t hurt to try it out.

They hadn’t  _hidden_  it, per say, but they hadn’t flaunted it, either. Their demeanor hadn’t changed because they were sleeping together; they were still best friends, trusted squad mates, a team,  _No Shepard without Vakarian_ , now they were just… more.

By the time of the attack and her Death, they’d definitely been  _more_  than friends with benefits.

Still best friends, but Arisa considered him her boyfriend, at the least; she didn’t ask him to define what they were, though. She’d just been happy to have him.

And then she’d died. Spent two years in a coma, being rebuilt. Woken up with cybernetic scars and shorter hair, told she needed to move because they were being attacked.

Told that Garrus was MIA and had been for nearly two years.

_I know you’re alive, Garrus. I know you’re out there. And I’m going to find you._

_I just hope you still want me._

* * *

They head to Omega in search of both Mordin Solus and a Merc Killer only known as ‘Archangel’ immediately after their stop at Freedom’s Progress, and Arisa’s attention is immediately on the rumors of the Turian.

The timeline fits too well, and every instinct is screaming at her that  _it’s him_.

Mordin can wait; considering the warning from Aria that the Merc bands are getting ready to go after Archangel in full force  _now_ , her priority is getting to him and getting him out in one piece.

So they join the Merc Bands with the pretense of ‘helping’... and then take out half the waves before they’re even in sight of the complex.

A single round from a sniper rifle bounces off her shields and makes her head shoot up, gaze locked on the sole figure on the second floor of the building.

The armors different, the helmet - yet the stance and his grip on the rifle is so damn familiar that she just  _knows_.

They’ve dealt with the current wave of Mercs, so the trek inside and up to the second floor is simple, and he already has his helmet off by the time they reach him.

Her heart hammers, and Arisa has to physically restrain herself from jumping him, wrapping her arms around him and never letting him go.

_Two years spent dead on a table, and yet here we are. I think I’m allowed some damn emotion._

Going by the way his grip on the rifle tightens and his mandibles flare, Garrus is feeling about the same.

“Garrus!” she exclaims instead, purposely crossing to stand just in front of him, expression hidden from the others but open to him, “What are you  _doing_  here?”

“Oh, y’know, the usual,” he purrs, and his voice rolls through her in a long shiver, thrumming sub-vocals telling her  _just_  how much he’s holding back, “Keeping myself busy, following your example; cleaning up Mercs. They’ve got me pinned here, though; care to lend a hand?”

“Always.”

She orders Miranda and Jacob into position, prepares to fall into battle-mode herself - and pauses when Garrus takes a step into her suddenly; not quite touching, looking all the world as though he’s clear of her personal space, yet he’s close enough that she can  _feel_  the thrum of his sub-vocals, read perfectly the stark longing in those blue eyes.

She’s pretty sure she’s reflecting the same back at him.

“Shepard,” he pauses - hands her his rifle for a moment while he pulls a smaller SMG from it’s holster - eyes locked on hers the entire time, “You don’t even know how  _happy_  I am you’re here. Seriously. But you were…?”

“It’s a long story.” she affirms, voice strong but gentle, “I’ll explain later. Once I’ve rescued my ridiculous boyfriend from the Mercs of Omega.”

She hadn’t used that word, back before… but the utter  _smugness_  of his expression tells her it was a good slip, a good change.

“Here,” Garrus takes back his rifle and passes her the SMG instead, breath hot on her ear when he purrs, “A better gun for my honey.”

Arisa shivers and smirks, “Let’s kick some Merc ass.”

It feels  _so good_  to have him at her back again, to fall back into old patterns and practices, downing enemies left and right.

Until the gunship shows up and manages to catch Garrus with a rocket even as they shoot it out of the sky.

“Normandy, this is Shepard! Sending coordinates, we need EVAC,  _NOW_!” she’s yelling and she doesn’t care, guns dropped in favor of trying to stop the blood flow, sheer panic overriding any normal Commander-calm she might have faked.

_“Copy that, shuttle on route.”_

“Stay with me, Garrus,” if there’s a quiver to her voice she doesn’t notice - doesn’t notice anything except him lying to still, breathing to shallowly, bleeding  _too much_  - and she curses whatever God might be listening, “Don’t you  _dare_  die on me now, Vakarian. Not after…  _no_.”

The shuttle arrives and he’s loaded on and they’re speeding back to the Normandy, people making way as they rush the injured Turian to the Med Bay-

-and Arisa nearly loses it when she’s denied entry.

“I’m not  _allowed_? What the  _hell_  do you mean I’m not allowed?!”

“Calm down, Commander-”

“I will  _not_  calm down! I am  _not_  losing him again!”

“You’re not going to lose him, Shepard, but I need to be absolutely focused while I work-”

“Dr. Chakwas, do you really expect me to go to a  _meeting_  while Garrus is still  _bleeding_? I’m not going anywhere-”

“ _Arisa!”_  Chakwas barks, and Arisa’s mouth snaps shut. “Enough! I get it. Of all people, I  _know_  what he means to you. So kindly go to your meeting and  _let me work_.”

Startled and sheepish, Arisa only nods, and the doctor softens and pats her on the shoulder.

“He’ll be okay. I promise. Now go.”

Arisa reluctantly walks away, shoulders slumped, feeling exhausted and scared and angry; pulling her Commander facade back into place before the elevator reaches the CIC and marches to the meeting room, the ‘anger’ becoming her focal emotion.

The meeting wraps up and she retreats to her cabin - she has no messages or pings from Dr. Chakwas, which means she’s still working - and collapses on her bed, worn out.

She doesn’t cry, not yet, just… hopes, and wonders if she could have done something, kept him from getting hit, from-

Arisa doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she’ll never forget the nightmares, and she comes awake with a gasp when the door to her cabin slides open, bathing her momentarily in blinding light.

She shoves up on her elbows and stares, unseeing, at the figure at the top of her stairs for a moment. Then she blinks and sucks in a breath, brain catching up, realizing she’s  _not_  seeing things.

He’s out of his armor and wearing only the undersuit - slightly charred near the right side, showing burnt skin beneath. There’s a large bandage covering the spot right where the rocket had hit him, and parts of his face have been burned - his faceplates and mandible both, scarred and rough, and she can see the slightest hint of glittering cybernetics beneath the bandage.

Injured. Scarred. But  _alive_.

“Garrus.” Arisa whispers, and now she can’t hold back the tears or the hurt or the longing, and Garrus must hear it in her voice because he’s across the room and pressing her down into the mattress almost immediately.

“Shepard,” Garrus groans, face buried in her neck, sub-vocals humming and his knee pressing between her thighs, “Spirits,  _Arisa_.”

“Please, Garrus.” she gasps, and it’s all the incentive he needs to start stripping them both - he hasn’t lost his skill at dealing with human clothes, she notes - and then sliding home the moment they’re both bare.

Her back arches and she cries out, at first startled by the pain and then remembering  _new body, **new**  body, ow, fuck_ but it wanes soon enough and she’s clinging to him, yanking his head up to press their foreheads together as they move together.

They lay facing one another afterwards, Garrus propped on an elbow to keep from squashing his fringe, the other hand running a talon lazily up and down her side.

Making sure she’s real, she knows. She’s been doing the same thing to him, one hand rubbing over the soft skin of his waist, making him purr.

“Not to ruin the mood…” he drawls after a while, letting his hand rest on her hip, “And I am  _damn happy_  you’re… well. But,  _how_?”

“Cerberus rebuilt me.” Arisa mumbles, letting her fingers ghost over the plates of his chest, slowly up towards the damage, “Took two years. I don’t remember any of it. I was in a coma, only woke up a couple of times. But I’m still me. I think.”

“You’re you.” Garrus slips the hand on her hip around to her back, drawing her in against him, “Never seen anyone else move the way you do on the battlefield, Arisa. No one talks like you,  _commands_  like you. Holds a gun the way you do.”

“You sure?” her fingers slip up his neck then, gentle on the injured flesh, stopping at the edge of the bandage, “Any scars I had before… they’re  _gone_ , Garrus. Healed. Now I just have these…  _new_  scars, from the cybernetics. Didn’t have time to heal, before…”

“You’re still you.” he takes her wrist before her hand can go higher, turning to nuzzle against her palm, nipping her gently with his mouth plates, “New scars or not. Hell, guess we  _match_.”

“True. Though apparently so long as I stay my  _by the book_  self, they’ll heal.” Arisa presses herself closer, loving his appreciative purr, “Though if anyone goes after my boyfriend again, I might have to break the rules a bit.”

“Well, now,” Garrus rolls so he’s on top of her again, smirk obvious in the flare of his mandibles, “If anyone decides to try and hurt my  _girlfriend_  again, they’ll have to deal with Archangel. I’m not leaving you alone again, Arisa. Clearly, bad things happen when we’re apart.”

“Clearly.” she laughs, sadness seeping away, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Garrus.”

“Nothing can keep me away.” he swears, and she can’t help but smirk.

“Not even a rocket to the face…”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make my day! ♥


End file.
